Monday, 11 June 2012

Beehive




Every Saturday he planted a new tree. A hole in ground digged in the early morning, dressed in his pijamas, he descended to the earth. He dreamt of past journeys. The forest was young, the logs went down the river to the sea. In exchange he brought wine and blonde wigs. A pink sofa in the middle of the room, a piano, he sat down trying to love the girl with the beehive and lovely smile.





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